Life is funny in a cruel and endearing way
As I get older I get more agitated and angry. At least these days. I’m angry the way most things have turned out with family and friends, but am satisfied with other realms of those fields. I have two parents who love and support me no matter what I’m going through. It used to be just one, but in the past couple of years my dad has learned how to show his affection. It was always there, he just never knew how to present it. I’m proud of him. I never thought I’d have the relationship I do with him now, and I often thought if I ever did it would be a cliche daddy issues situation and it would be far too late. This thankfully is not the case.
As I get older I get angrier, but I’m able to process it and turn the pain into logic. Something to learn from. It’s the only thing one can do when so much is out of control. I have three happy places currently. This coffee shop that I’m writing in, when I’m in the presence of a select number of friends who still care for me, and whenever I’m with my girlfriend. She’s stuck with me through my worst and I’ll do the same with her. I look a ways into may future and everything is blurry, only I can see her there next to me. I love her family, and my family loves her.
Life is learning. Constantly. As I get older the learning curve gets more painful to follow with each step. The process becomes more tiresome, and I get infuriated and tired. I’m hoping that down the road things will be different, and they probably will be, but I won’t know until I get there.
So much has happened recently. Too much. I’ll just say it: far too much, but I’m still here working for something better, and that’s all I can do. I hate how life makes me feel like I’m trapped in a maze. I keep trudging through the same hallways of vegetation until it overgrows and consumes me. One good thing about the countless amount of times shit has hit the fan lately is I’m beginning to develop a sense of humor over it. I think to myself: “Well this might as well happen.” It leaves me scared and broken. A beautiful sadness I suppose. At least I’m feeling things again, and the further I get away from alcohol the better. I know it’s ironic to have an Oberon bottle in the picture for this entry but it’s too funny of a picture not to use, and for the record that picture was taken two summers ago. I am now 8 days sober.
I’m feeling strong again. Like I did while I was in rehab. I feel on top of things but low at the same time. It’s an odd trip indeed. Like life in general. I feel like I’ve become a different person in a matter of a couple months. I suppose with all I’ve been through lately that isn’t too hard to believe. I’m proud of myself. It’s a requirement. I’m still here and I’m still fighting.
I dislike how touchy feely life has made my entries lately, but it helps me get through it so I’m not too upset. I look around and I’m always going to want more. I’m always going to want things to be different. Always. I used to think acting like a different person would help me accomplish this. Now I know better. I am who I am, and that guy is pretty cool. I am getting more in control of him, but there will always be room for improvement. What a world. What webs we weave, and some other cliche bullshit.